Nine Outfits Ready
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Pugsley is acting weird, even for an Addams, and there's only one person for the job - Napoleon Solo. Written for the 12 Fics of Christmas


He slipped the jacket on and turned first this way and then the other, checking out the cut of the line in the cracked and dusty mirror. He adjusted his shoulders slightly and then shot his cuffs so just an inch of the pressed and starched white shirt showed.

He leaned forward to study the tie, the detail of its knot and the way the clip held it to his shirt. That accomplished, he checked his pocket to make sure just a bit of the coordinated handkerchief showed.

He was every inch the tailored and cultured spy and dressed to the nines. With a much practiced move, he slipped his cigarette case out and offered it to an imaginary date. Then he held up a finger and turned, hunching over the case and speaking into it softly. "Solo here. Open Channel D."

Yes Pugsley Addams was every inch the cultured and tailored spy. His hero, Napoleon Solo, would be pleased. He glanced over at his wardrobe, eight other suits hanging there, just waiting for him to don them and rush out to save the world.

From their vantage point in the hallway, Wednesday Addams looked up at her father, a frightened expression on her face.

"Father, what's wrong with Pugsley? He's acting strange. He's scaring me and not in the usual sense."

Morticia held a slender hand to her mouth, partially to keep from crying out with love for her first born. "Oh, oh, dear where have I gone wrong?" She studied her husband, seeking some guidance and support.

"I'm afraid things are much worse than I'd feared." Gomez pulled his wife closer. "Why now? Why when everything is supposed to be right with the world?" He took a long pull on his cigar. "We must call Dr. Jenkins."

Morticia's knees grew weak. It was only the strength of her dress's material that keep them from collapsing. "No, not him. The last time he… it's too terrible to think about. Please, Gomez, there has to be another way to save our son." Tears began to trickle down Morticia's cheeks, even as she watched her son begin to polish his already glistening shoes.

" _Cara_." Gomez kissed her forehead gently. "Of course." Then he snapped his fingers. "Of course! We will go to the source." He pulled a bell rope.

"You rang?" Lurch was wearing a frilly apron and carrying a feather duster.

"Sorry to take you away from dusting, Lurch, but prepare the car. Pugsley, Mrs. Addams and I are going out."

Napoleon came out of the bedroom, toweling his hair. A night in was just what both of them needed to let off a little steam, especially with things heating up again in Central America. Sadly, terrorists and madmen didn't take the holidays off.

He took a deep breath and grinned. Something smelled good and it wasn't just his partner. Illya was standing at the kitchen counter, icing cookies, his head nodding along with the song playing on the radio. Napoleon came up behind him, wrapped his arms around Illya's waist and squeezed. "Hey, good lookin', what's cooking?"

"Napoleon, you made me put the gingerbread man's bits in the wrong spot." Still, he tilted his head to give Napoleon access to his neck. Napoleon obliged.

"Mmm, my favorite flavor." He kissed the bruised skin tenderly. "Not too sore?"

"Not yet and a shower will help. Do you want to take over?" Napoleon's hands strayed downward and Illya executed a little sideways step to free himself. "Do that and we will never get these finished." He held out the cinnamon candies. "Here. You finish up and I will take my shower now. Oh, and you might want to dress before you take anything out of the oven. It's a bit hot."

"Not as hot as it could be."

"Napoleon!"

"All right." Napoleon held up his hands in surrender, then took the candies. "Go get your shower."

He'd finished off the tray of cookies Illya had been working on and then dashed into the bedroom to change into some sweatpants and a ratty tee shirt. Considering how much time he planned to spend in them tonight, he wasn't being fussy. The important thing was that they not be an obstacle between him and the object of his lust.

A quick check outside told him that the snow had finally let up and the city was slowly coming back to life. It didn't matter. They had dinner in the oven and after Illya got out of the shower, they would eat, drink and spend the rest of the night together, talking, making love, making more love… Napoleon grinned. Thankfully, they were both men of great… capacity.

There was a knock to the door and he considered ignoring it, but that might prove to be unwise. Making sure that his clothes are as respectable as possible, he made sure his weapon was close by and went to the door.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Solo? Gomez Addams here." Immediately an image of a well-dressed, albeit slightly odd-looking man sprang to mind. He knew without opening the door, there would be a grin just this side of insanity and a cigarillo in the man's mouth.

"Mr. Addams." He opened the door and then smiled. "And Mrs. Addams. What a pleasure."

From behind him, Mr. Addams pulled out a child, a rather pudgy boy. "You remember Pugsley." The boy stared at Napoleon, his mouth agape.

"Of course, how are all of you? Please, come in." He stepped aside and gestured them inward. "Please excuse the way I am dressed. We weren't expecting company."

"We? Oh, dear, Gomez, we are interrupting." Mrs. Addams looked around anxiously. "I hope you didn't stuff anyone in the closet… unless, of course, there's a clear understanding that that's acceptable."

"What? Oh, no, it's just Illya. I'll be right back. Please have a seat." He left them in the living room and hurried to the bathroom, not bothering to knock as he entered.

"Illya?"

"Napoleon, if you don't get your libido in check, we are never going to eat… well, eat dinner at any rate."

"It's not that. The Addams's are here."

"What? Really? Great. I have a gunpowder tea I found that they would love. It's in that pink container."

"I thought that was gunpowder… I don't believe you. Anyhow, I didn't want you to be surprised."

Napoleon hurried pulled on a pair of trousers and a serviceable white shirt, checked his hair and then went back to their guests.

"Please excuse me for that. Would you like some refreshment? Illya tells me he has a tea that he would love for you to try and there are cookies fresh out of the oven." He felt a little uncomfortable at the way Pugsley was watching him.

"Mr. Kuryakin is here?" Gomez perked up. "He's a doctor, isn't he?"

"Dear Illya." Morticia has a dreamy faraway expression and Napoleon represses a grin. If she only knew. He busied himself by filling the tea kettle and putting it on the stove to heat.

"He is, although his degree is in physics. Do you have a question?"

"A small one."

Illya entered then and shook hands with Gomez and hugged Morticia.

"How do you keep your pale and ragged look, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Too much play time with my friends."

"Remember, old man, man does not live by play alone."

"From your lips to God's ear," Napoleon murmured as he plated the cookies. He wiped his hand, brushed his hair off his forehead and ran a hand over his five o'clock shadow. The tea kettle whistled and he pulled it off the stove. He nearly dropped it before he got it to the sink.

"I've told you to be careful. The handle gets hot." Illya said, holding out his hand. He took Napoleon's and examined the palm. Darting a quick look to their guests who were busy admiring the view, he blew on the red area and then kissed it. "There, all better."

That when they realized Pugsley was standing there, staring. "You kissed his hand."

"Doesn't your mother do that when you hurt yourself?" Napoleon answered, smoothly as Illya tended to the tea.

"Yeah, but I'm a kid. You're not."

"It still feels better after its gotten some TLC."

"TLC."

"Tender loving care."

"Ugh." Pugsley made a face and Napoleon handed him the platter of cookies. Would you take those in for me, please?"

Pugsley looked down at the carefully decorated gingerbread men and frowned. "They look happy."

"How are they supposed to look?"

"Like broken and shattered remains." And with that Pugsley was gone.

"Sounds like me," Illya muttered. "Ready?"

He carried the tray into the living room.

"You have a lovely view of the opposing building, Mr. Solo. I imagine that blocks most of the sun."

"Most of the time, yes, but since I'm usually either working or sleeping, it doesn't matter." Napoleon cracked open the window and the sound of traffic drifted up to them. "It's like being back in school, to be honest."

"School? I thought you led the glamorous life of a spy," Pugsley said, snapping off one of the legs of his cookie.

Illya nearly choked on his tea. "Come again?"

"Pugsley thinks you lead the ideal lifestyle."

Napoleon shook his head. "It may seem that way, but it's not. There's a lot of danger and threat to life and limb."

"See, Father? I told you it was wonderful."

Illya's eyes widened and he backtracked. "That's just now and again, though. Mostly we sit around and do paperwork or take classes, train, and attend lectures. There are a few dinner parties, but we are usually stuck being someone's bodyguard, with the sole purpose of keeping them alive if anything exciting happens."

Napoleon frowned and then remembered who they were talking to. "He's right. I just got in from Tahiti this morning."

"Ta... Tahiti?" Pugsley was aghast.

"Lots of sun and sand. I had to drop off a file for my boss and pick another up. I think I'm due to head to Trinidad next, just in time for Carnival."

"Carnival?"

"Lots of singing and dancing! Brilliant costumes and feather. It's something else." Napoleon sighed. "Last time, I had a jacket with feather woven into the lapels."

"We could see him from a mile away."

"Mother, Father, may I be excused to go play in the traffic?" Pugsley looked slightly ill.

"Of course."

The adults watched him hurriedly pull on his jacket and race from the apartment. "So, do you want to tell us what that was all about?"

"For some reason, Pugsley got it into his head that you two had a mad and carefree existence."

"It certainly is mad at times, although carefree I would be hard pressed to agree with."

"I think, however, you have shown him that your career is no better or worse than anyone else. Thank you for that."

"You are welcome, but I'm not really sure what I did."

"You were yourself, Mr. Solo, and that's enough." Morticia finished her tea and replaced the cup. "This is excellent tea, dear Illya. You must tell me where you found it."

"Nepal, of all places." Illya went to the kitchen and brought the package back with him. "Here, you have the rest. I can always pick up more the next time I have to play the Abominable Snow Man."

"How kind. Thank you."

"How about some brandy, Gomez?"

"Don't mind if I do." Suddenly he was cut off by the sound of crashing cars, honking horns and people shouting. Gomez looked fondly at his wife. "That little imp. Perhaps, gentlemen, we should take a rain check on that brandy. I think we have our little man to take care of before he disrupts all the traffic in Manhattan. _Cara?_ " He offered her his hand and they walked to the door where they exchanged pleasantries and were gone as quickly as they arrived.

"What was that all about?"

"No idea, but at least one good thing came out of this."

"What's that?"

"No more tea." Illya made a face. "It's really was terrible."

"Alone at last." Napoleon leaned forward to kiss him. "Just us."

An alarm went off and Illya jumped. "And burning cookies." He raced to take them out of the oven, waving his hand to clear the smoke.

Then their communicators sounded and they looked at each other. "The glamorous life of a spy, my -."

"Napoleon!"


End file.
